Kill The Deer

This image taken from Iselli Nurseries which developed and sells this highly desirable little shrub.

I was taking a little stroll with the pup around the garden after dinner when I stopped for a good look at my Whipcord Thuja. It looked a little funny- like all its branches were bent down to the ground. Mind you it is a very slow grower and only started off as a 1 1/2 foot ball about 5 years ago, but it was looking particularly small. Closer inspection showed that not only were those branches bent to the ground but they were severed and actually laying on the ground. Its thin delicate bark was stripped from its cord like branches.

After a fleeting feeling of loss, my mind turned immediately to revenge. Kill the deer. Now.

Food in Florence Italy!

Reta, Abby & Sarah enjoying light refreshment at the cafe at the Uffizi!

Freshly back from Italy with my two little sisters Reta & Abby- terrorizing waiters from Florence to Volterra. I suspect we were a wee bit gauche showing up at restaurants at the Ungodly early hour of 7 PM and giggling while ordering, but the waiters soon warmed to our charms and large tips. We also appreciated their food and service in an undeniable if linguistically stilted manner.

The food offerings were a bit disappointing to us- compared to my trip to Rome a few years back. Where were the artichokes during their harvest season? Where was the artichoke and olive pizza? It also seemed to be a much more pasta based diet in Florence- a real non-starter for a celiac. We sated our artichoke lust at the small grocery across the street with hotel picnics of cheese, salmon mousse, wine and marinated artichokes.

We soon hit our stride. The three of us, plus an honorary sister, new Sarah, who insinuated her way on to the taxi from the airport and into our forays for food, made for a foursome hell bent on culinary pleasure. We struck out to find the out of the way restaurants to deliver what we demanded.

The Osteria di Porcellini, not too far from the Porcellini Bronze (little boar), was our first attempt. The risotto with salmon and broccoli was decent but nothing a half rate Italian restaurant in the states wouldn't offer. What it did offer was Rafael sitting next to us and explaining the Italian leather trade. It was worth the price of admission. We checked out his shop the next day where his cousin summoned him from the factory floor with the promise of 4 American women. Our honorary sister, New Sarah, came close to purchasing but evaded the siren call of Italian shearling.

The next night we made a reservation at Il Santo Bevitore, across the Arno on the more funky side of town. It is a beautiful restaurant, but dimly lit. New Sarah sealed our fate as gauche Americans by stealing the candle from the nearby table to be able to read the menu. Our wonderful waiter, Camariere 2, castigated her but returned with a replacement candle. The meal was good and the service impeccable. Camariere laughed and helped us through the menu. We found a hopping little bar with live music on the walk home but we had already polished off a bottle of wine and an after dinner Limoncello. We stayed for a few songs and stumbled to the hotel.

The next day we were off to see sights without the others on the tour. We shopped and we went to the Opera del Duomo- a museum of original tidbits removed from the cathedral due to their delicate state. Once again Abby was in need of sustenance- and no one is happy unless Abby is happy. Reta turned around to point to some purple doors- "How about there?" It was a fortuitous choice and one of our best meals. Mangiofoco looks like a small hole in the wall but it is deceiving. There are many levels of tables and very fresh food cooked on the premises. There were ricotta and spinach tagliatelle, truffle honey drizzled on fresh pecorino and white fish in a delicate tomato sauce. The owner Max was our waiter and made the lunch an event. He even consented to a photo.

On New Sarah's final night we went to a much revered establishment- Buca Mario. The service was to die for, but we had just come off a wonderful lunch at Mangiofoco, it was noisy and the place felt a little overpriced. It reminded me a bit of those Boston restaurants that slide by on reputation and presentation. Good, but not great.

New Sarah returned to the US and the three graces continued on to Volterra- a cult destination for American teens due to it being the setting for the most recent Twilight series- New Moon. Nevertheless we found a light repast around 1 in what looked liked a cheesy dinner. Faux lacquer chairs and nearly non-existent atmosphere. We amused ourselves watching a young couple and their small child who was nearly a duplicate of my sister Reta's youngest daughter. The food was amazingly competent and satisfying for what basically amounted to an Italian diner. I had a delicious seafood risotto loaded with mussels. Then a class trip of Italian preteens descended for their lunch. We were reduced to tears watching them fight about food and who had to sit with the girls. Teens are the same the world over.

That night we vowed to eat at a tony looking little restaurant around the corner from our hotel. It was called Ristorante Enoteca Del Duca. We stupidly tried to go to dinner at 7- as the staff was sitting down to theirs. We were sent away- how humiliating! We showed up again at 7:45 and we were seated right next to the wine cellar. We were deep enough into the countryside that the waiter could not speak English. My sisters put me in charge of ordering wine. I am still trying to get the distinction between red and rose in Italian- it caused me to send a bottle back. Humiliation number two! We finally dived into the wine and started enjoying ourselves. My first course was ricotta souffle- light and lovely. Abby had spinach & ricotta gnocchi with truffles and a rich cream sauce. Reta had a light salad with pecorino shavings. We all tried Abby's gnocchi- they were just about the best thing I ever tasted- until my main course arrived. Reta had pasta with a pesto sauce. Abby opted for a light plate of grilled vegetables - a wise choice after her rich gnocchi. I had THE most amazing bowl of lentil soup I will ever have in my life! It was pureed and lightly rimmed with olive oil. Browned, extruded mashed potatoes formed a flower design around a raw egg yolk in the middle. Shaved white truffles covered the top. I pierced the egg yolk which ran over the top of the thick soup adding a rich creamy texture. The truffles were earthy and delicious. I wonder if anyone else has ever rhapsodized about lentil soup? We all agreed that while this was the priciest meal we had in Italy, it was worth every cent.

&&$%#@??*!@

I have been thinking about the place of swear words in my everyday language. I hear them come out of my mouth and briefly consider that it is a habit I should stop, but then I never do.

I have read a few articles on swearing and realize there are people who are very interested in the function of swear words in our language. They can be used to express pain, frustration, hurt or to give emphasis to a thought. I suppose the problem is that for some people this is a constant occurrence ... so it loses its emphatic quality. Swear words are meant to shock so it is jarring when you are busy recovering from that shock every other word.

I believe I started thinking about this when I realized I had used an inappropriate word in front of a customer that I like a lot. Regardless- she is a customer. I apologized and told her that I feel she is more like a sister and thus familiar. Her response- "don't worry, we're family." Phew! Crisis averted. I also used the s**t word in front of an acquaintance/banker in town. It was to make an emphatic point- but why did I feel a need to resort to this language to get my point across?

Last night I went to a social event at my local Women's Club (who knew they still existed???). I met a new women and she let fly with a few "%#%#$'s" and a few "?@###'s." I took it in the context of her personality. She was exuberant and outgoing and made it clear that she was a straight shooter. I also took notice that she was comfortable with the off-color language.

About 30 years ago an employer whom I respected a great deal said she was afraid to swear in front of me because I never did it. At 18 years old I wanted to be a sophisticated grown up so I took to swearing like a truck driver in order not to put people off with my purity. The habit has been tempered over the years, but still alerts people to my exuberant, out-there personality.

I have to question its place in my conversation though. Is it really necessary (at my advanced age) to display an exuberant personality or wouldn't it be better to be the mysterious woman with still waters that run deep? What exactly am I conveying with this language?

Do you swear? Frequently?

I Kinda Like This....

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."

— Marilyn Monroe

Another Bossy Capricorn's Book Review

"Their Motives differed, and they moved in fits and starts, but gradually, guided to a surprising degree by a Church increasingly global in its outlook and imperial in its ambitions, their efforts fed into a collective quest for knowledge, power and wealth the likes of which had never been seen before."

I have just finished reading The Fourth Part of the World by Toby Lester- a book nominally about the first map to identify the New World as America, but more importantly about the age of discovery. The above quote from the final chapter brings to mind a rather animated electronic discussion I have been having with my Uncle Rufus regarding the Renaissance. His Masters thesis, which he received from Tufts during the mid-60's, doubted the existence of the Renaissance. My perspective on this period in history are through the eyes of art historians while, I am sure, his definition encompassed a broader perspective. The above quote neatly sums up the arc of the quest for worldly knowledge, the range of players, the roadblocks and passions which defined the Renaissance. This book defines the humanists and outlines their role in promulgating it.

As I look out across the Atlantic in an Easterly direction it is difficult to conceive of a world as small and insular as Europe in the 1200's. The world had contracted with the declines of the Roman & Greek empires, but not quite as much as our grade school history books would have us believe. The scientists of Europe were still in contact with their innovative Arabic counterparts and the Eastward reaching Holy Roman Empire despite the Church Schism and the Crusades. It is eye opening to learn that at no time was it accepted doctrine that the world was flat among the educated. This bit of hysteria was reserved for the hoi polloi- perhaps abetted by the sovereigns and the Church to keep them from remembering how hungry they were?

Ironically it is the Church who sped up the flow of information by calling for Church Councils to resolve the Papal and Church Schisms. By calling together all church potentates along with their retinues that numbered in the hundreds the Church brought together the best and the brightest of Europe who had nothing better to do but share knowledge, books and maps while the plenaries bickered about minutiae. It caused an explosion of knowledge sharing which was only enhanced by the soon to be invented Gutenberg press...... which in turn made this knowledge available in a cheap and freely traded format.

What I find fascinating about this book is the undeniable synergy of Church, commerce & scholarship which pushed the world forward in its understanding of itself. It is easy to dismiss any one of these factions as unimportant in the age of discovery- either pointy headed map makers without the heart of adventurers or the Church that is only interested in maintaining the status quo. This book dispels all those easy interpretations and replaces it with a nuanced view of the time.

Get thee to a library.

Smolder Alert

Henry and his best, brooding, romantic-lead gaze.

This past Saturday Michelle and Melissa came over to eat, drink and watch movies. We are suckers for a romantic movie- especially anything Jane Austen-ish. Melissa brought over a BBC production of North & South. We watched the first two hours Saturday evening- at which point we lost Michelle to her grueling work schedule. The next morning Melissa and I were able to watch the last two hours- after a 5 mile walk to make sure we didn't get blood clots from sitting on our arses for so long.

North & South is the story of a South England woman who is exiled to the industrial North, where she meets, and slowly falls in love, with a factory owner. The male lead is played by Richard Armitage. He leaves Pride & Prejudice's Colin Firth in the dust as far as the brooding male lead sorts. Mr Armitage has perpetually scowling brows and eyes that give away few secrets. In the final train scene he finally softens into a smile and you can hear the collective sploosh of every woman's heart dropping to the floor.

I can't quite figure out why many women, me included, like this theme of the hard won love. Woman are all about the chase, whereas men generally want to cut right to the chase. The chase is what makes women swoon.

I also detect the theme of complicated men being more desirable that seems to run through so much female-centered literature.

What's the scoop?

*The title refers to a line from a movie- Lost In Austen. A time traveling fan of Austen is enamored of a truly brooding send up of Darcy. Mediocre movie, good line.

Consumer Purchase as Transformational Talisman

Out with the old- in with the new!

I have been working up to my 48th birthday for about 6 months now. I don't buy into a "birth" day. I like to think of it as more of a birth season. It stretches over days, weeks and occasionally months. This time it has involved a lot of shopping, miscommunicating with my boyfriend and a general malaise.

When I feel unsettled I try to buy my way out of it. I believe if I find just the right object that makes me happy all will be right with the world again. It usually ends at a certain dollar amount or until the feeling passes. This time it has been a rather long spell that started in August.

Goodness knows what precipitated it. I am guessing the no-where-ness of turning 48, which is nearly 49, which is practically 50. It might also be that as a woman you tend to become invisible to men around this age. Funny- I have never needed their feedback for my self-esteem, but it becomes obvious that it is the age of transition to doyenne.

As I struggle with the imminent 50th birthday and the self regulation of my esteem my purchases have leaned heavily towards the fashion arena. It gives me the sense of putting a good face forward. Of someone who is keeping up and still giving it the old college try. I don't want to become the person who is only interested in being the most comfortable- or soon I would be the woman who is willing to wear sweatpants and Crocs in public. I am trying to postpone that phase as long as possible.
In my quest to stay engaged with the world and project the image of one who cares what others think I have forsaken my LL Bean slipons. They are easy and comfortable but they are worn, torn and make my feet look like a brown pillow held together with electrical tape. I purchased a pair of boots that made me gush to the salesperson about how wonderful they were to sell them to me. I slipped them on the next morning and felt beautiful with no one present to even behold their beauty. They are a transformational shoe purchase! And they are even Goretex- thus practical!

And here it is the day after my birthday. I not only feel more beautiful- I feel more settled too.